


the dreamweaver

by Eddaic



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, mature themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eddaic/pseuds/Eddaic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Link and Madarao, through the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dreamweaver

Disclaimer: DGM ain't mine.

**the dreamweaver**

Spring

The day before Christmas Eve, a ghost prowls over to Link's property - a shelter cobbled together from two poles and a wide cloth that might have once been a bed sheet - and stands there as if waiting to be let in. Link shrinks against the brick wall - the only wall there is - and glares. He is met with a hollow stare that speaks of hunger and frozen fingers.

"You stay out," says Link, shrill with anger. "This is _my_ house."

At night the ghost, with cold toes and hair rough like straw, curls around Link and murmurs, "I'm Madarao." His rags are sour and fusty, but they don't reek as badly as his breath. He chases away the monsters that Link is sure were lurking around the corners of his house.

Link can't remember the last time he was blessed with a dreamless sleep.

Summer

Link stumbles between the hours. His shirt sticks to his back and nausea swirls lazily in his gut from the scorching heat.

Levrrier pushes a bowl of crushed ice topped with pink syrup and pistachios into Link's hands. "It helps," he says, and smiles, and tosses some coins to the street vendor. "Strawberry flavour."

"I've seen it before," Link says, peeved. He's watched children riding their father's shoulders and shovelling flavoured ice into their mouths with small wooden spoons. At first he would stare, transfixed at the greed and the comfort -and at the love, rich like fat, that clung to their cheeks, around their grins, at the corners of their eyes. Eventually he realised it put a bitter taste in his mouth, and stopped looking.

Madarao peers into Link's bowl, ignoring his own. He takes the spoon and, without warning, pushes it against Link's lips. "Guh!" Link sputters. Then the spoon is in his mouth and something crunchy-cold and saccharine is spreading over his tongue. Link swallows on impulse. It's wonderful and all is well with the world for about half a second, and then a headache rams into him so hard that he flails and knocks the bowl out of Madarao's hands.

Autumn

His fingers murmur across Link's thighs, pause at his hipbones. The pale autumn sun seeps in through the stained glass window – piercing the belly of the Son of God – and warms their skin. Link can smell the rank wine on his own breath, the shameful ramification of a fit of weakness in one of Central's well-stocked pantries. "They won't miss one bottle," Madarao had said with the grin of a devil, his breath hot and familiar against Link's cheek.

Lips press against his shoulder. "You all right?"

Link kisses him fiercely in response, twining his fingers into Madaro's soft hair, and tucks thoughts of God away for later, for the night, when he can punish himself by sinking into in prayer instead of sleep.

Winter

He opens his eyes and is convinced he is under a spell. "Madarao?"

Madarao half-turns to glance at Link. Even after so long his lips do not turn upwards. What little mischief that used to be in his eyes has been spirited away, and Link feels bitterness rise in his throat. He wonders what demon took Madarao's soul.

It is cold, even under Link's waistcoat and thick boots.

Something's wrong.

From far away he can make out the sounds from the battle with the Level 4. Crashes. Screams.

Madarao drops his hand to his side. A cool wind slithers past, but it makes breathing no easier.

Even though they are so close, Link is alone.

-end-


End file.
